Poetry Porch: Poetry


Airships, Alas
By William Doreski

Whenever a dirigible floats
over Keene I feel the slough
and tug of its motion challenge
my general respect for the sky.

Leaning from my office window
amid the harsh brown strangles
of ivy, I shout at the bluff
cigar stub floating overhead

and hope some crew member hears
my critique. These apparitions
have always come a long way,
from Long Island, Portland, Boston

their running lights flashing red
and white, strobing and knitting
and stoking patterns to fill in
the way ancient astronomers

filled the spaces between stars
with zodiac statuary
in rigid yet supple poses
any pagan could achieve.

Then I withdraw and slam shut
the window, ashamed of this earth-
bound temperament not even
a flotilla of angels could please.

Copyright © 2007 by William Doreski.